Free The Fold by An Na Page B

“No way.”
    “Come on, Joyce. You said it yourself, you have to get used to wearing the makeup. Everyone is going to say how great you look.”
    “You think so?”
    “Yes!”
    Joyce sighed deeply to let Gina know how much it hurt. “Fine.”
    Gina clapped. “Good. I’ll come by the restaurant later tonight.”
    “Where are you going now?” Joyce asked.
    “I have to go by the Korean market and then I’m just gonna take more SAT practice tests until I have to pick up my mom.”
    “Everyone has a car,” Joyce said and pushed open her door.
    “It’s not that glamorous, Joyce,” Gina called out as Joyce stepped out.
    Joyce waved good-bye and headed into her apartment complex. As she walked up the stairs, Joyce assessed her wardrobe. What could she wear to work to go with her new makeover? She had it narrowed down to two shirts by the time she reached her front door. Joyce was just about to push her key into the lock when she realized the door was slightly ajar. Did she forgot to lock up before leaving the apartment? Had there been a break-in? Joyce slowly pushed open the front door, her breath shallow with fear.
    Uhmma was sitting on the couch, her back to the door.
    “Uhmma?” Joyce said, surprised to see her mother home.
    Uhmma slowly turned her head at the sound of Joyce’s voice.
    Joyce quickly covered her mouth, squelching the scream of horror.
    Where Uhmma’s head should have been, there was an enormous balloon. Her eyes were replaced by two slight indentations, like tucks in a down ski jacket. Her bulging forehead, the skin shiny and taut from swelling, cast a shadow over her puffed-out cheeks. Two dark lines where her eyebrows used to be glowered back at Joyce, evil as a jack-o’-lantern. Joyce had never seen anything like it before. Uhmma looked like she had just walked off the set of a horror movie or, worse, a late-night comedy show. But instead of a conehead, she had a Nerf-ball head.
    “Uhmma, are you okay? What happened?” Joyce asked, peering back and forth, searching for Uhmma’s eyes.
    Two fat tears slid out from under the tucks.
    “Don’t cry, Uhmma!” Joyce said, alarmed. She grabbed Uhmma’s hands, which were thankfully normal sized, and patted them.
    Uhmma’s puffy lips parted. “Gomo.”
    “They did this to you at the permanent makeup place?”
    Uhmma shook her head no and pointed to the dark lines on her forehead. “They tattooed my eyebrows, and on the way home, my face blew up.”
    Joyce stood up. “Ohmygod! We have to get you to the hospital.” Joyce wondered if they could just pop Uhmma’s head like deflating a balloon.
    Uhmma shook her head again. “Helen already took me. I am supposed to rest and take the medicine.” She pointed to a bottle of pills on the coffee table. “The doctors say I had some allergic reaction to the tattoo ink.”
    Joyce sat back down next to Uhmma. Arlene’s words rang in her ears. Joyce reached up to her own face and felt the stiffness of the foundation and powder like armor on her skin. At least this stuff could be washed off.
    “Does it hurt?” Joyce asked.
    Two more tears slid out.
    Joyce gently wiped them away. “Do you want some water? Can you eat something?”
    “Don’t worry about me. Go help your father at work. Mrs. Lee cannot do everything. Also, ask Gina tocome and help tonight. Helen will have to work in the kitchen.”
    Joyce nodded.
    Uhmma sighed. “I had a dream something like this would happen. Aigoo. Your Gomo sometimes makes me crazy.”
    “She’s crazy, Uhmma.”
    Uhmma waved away her comment. “Shhh, do not be disrespectful. Gomo does so much for us.”
    Joyce turned away. How many times had she heard the same thing? Gomo was their savior. Jesus! Gomo could seriously maim them all and they would still have to bow and say gam-sa-ham-nee-da.
    “It’s ridiculous that we have to kiss up to her all the time,” Joyce said.
    “Joyce-ya, you do not understand. We can never repay her for all her help. Without Gomo